


The Joy of the Sea

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Finding Joy (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2.0) [2]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019, Week Two, witchy wives figuring it out, yo my kink is healthy supportive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Ada and Hecate continue their trip--and Hecate finds a bit more of herself along the way.Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019. Week Two: First Time.Story 2/8





	The Joy of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Be ye warned: contains spoilers for season three.

They’d switched to a sleeper train in Edinbrugh, and somewhere close to Cairngorms National Park, Ada had found herself very thankful that they’d booked a private sleeping car (though they currently weren’t using it for sleep). The narrowness of the beds and the room in general presented a particularly unique challenge for the desired activities, but her wife had proven herself to be adaptable and adventurous, yet again.

Afterwards, they magicked the bottom bunk into something lightly larger, to accommodate them both. Hecate was soon snoring lightly against Ada’s shoulder, thanks to a sleeping draught Dimity had bequeathed to them just before their departure.

 _Just in case_ , Dimity had said, hedging a bit. She hadn’t pointed out that this trip would be the first time Hecate had slept anywhere besides Cackle’s in over thirty years (even their occasional holidays to the cottage had held familiar sounds and sensations—the same foxes barked, the same birds sang, it had been so close that it was practically an extension of the castle itself), had tried not to brush up against the sharp edges of reality. Hecate had merely nodded, fingers lightly tracing over the edges of the vial and softly thanking her colleague. She didn't ask how Dimity had been able to procure all the necessary ingredients, since they were still rebuilding their stores after Ethel Hallow's disastrous decision to obliterate everything in her bid to save the day from Faux-Indigo. Still, she knew it had to have taken considerable time and effort on Dimity's part. Ada had felt a surge of affection for them both. One day, they might actually admit they were friends.

Ada didn’t take the draught. Instead, she stayed awake, staring at the ceiling as the train clattered and swayed. Hecate’s cheek was on her shoulder, her right arm around Ada’s waist, and her right leg hooked over Ada’s right leg—Ada was surrounded and grounded by her wife, a feeling she cherished. Her left hand rested over Hecate’s right, fingertips lightly ghosting over the veins and ridges of her knuckles, enjoying the softness of her skin and trying not to cry over how fragile it seemed.

More often than not, Ada had been the one in danger, when there had been a crisis. But Ethel’s Faux-Indigo incident had put Hecate in the crosshairs, and Ada had found the situation unbearable. She realized now that part of her was far more comfortable being in danger—because she always knew that Hecate would save her, because Hecate always _had_. She had absolute faith. But when it came to her own ability to be the white knight, she found her certainty faltering.

She’d always been relieved and elated whenever a crisis ended. But this was the first time that she’d truly understood exactly why Hecate’s entire body shook whenever they made love after surviving, why Hecate sometimes cried, why Hecate could sometimes be over-cautious, over-zealous in her desire to shield Ada at times. Of course, Ada had always been aware of how close they’d been to losing each other, but now she understood the burden of knowing that if it hadn’t worked out, it would have been entirely her fault, her failing.

She turned her head slightly to place a kiss atop her wife’s head, her fingers tightening around the slim wrist, _I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, my love, and I’ll never let you go._

Hecate stirred slightly, arching further into Ada’s side, knee slipping further between Ada’s legs as her arm tightened around Ada’s waist. The blonde smiled. _Message received and returned._ Even dead asleep, Hecate was listening.

Ada wasn’t sure when she finally drifted off, but she didn’t wake until they were pulling into the station. Hecate was already awake, smiling softly.

“I suppose we’ll have to forgo our usual morning routine,” the brunette deadpanned. However she still nuzzled into the side of Ada’s neck, wrapping a leg around Ada's hips as her lips found purchase on Ada’s pulse-point.

Ada grinned in response. “We’ll make up for it when we reach the cottage.”

Hecate hummed in agreement, a low, knowing sound that rumbled deep in her throat. Ada loved the sound, loved what it meant, loved what it ignited in her own body.

Within minutes, they were fully dressed, the bed was back to its usual size, and they were slipping into the corridor with their bags in hand. The sleeper train was nonmagical, which meant they had to appear as regular travelers. Hecate was even wearing pants. Ada would have teased her, if she hadn’t been quite so distracted by the results.

They moved through the station and found a secluded place to cast an invisibility spell before mounting their brooms. After deciding to take the trip, they’d taken on the venture with their usual method of dividing and conquering—Ada had managed accommodation whilst Hecate took on navigation. So once they were airborne, Hecate took a moment to look around and adjust her bearings, and then motioned in the general direction of travel.

The train had been wonderful. An easy way to see the countryside without getting exhausted from flying—and the greatest treat, in Hecate’s view, had been the completely uninterrupted access to one Ada Cackle. While she loved their work and the life they’d built at Cackle’s, sometimes it seemed as if they never had enough time to simply be together. The little holidays spent in the cottage had been wonderfully free from distraction, but that was something they only did at half-term—and they’d missed their usual visit at winter half-term, due to a particularly heavy snowfall. Which meant this was the first time in a year that they’d been away from the school and its expectations and needs. And goodness, how that lack of holiday had been evident in their relationship, particularly under the strain of Indigo’s reappearance.

Of course, it was Indigo’s reappearance that had brought them here—that had brought Hecate _here_ , back to the world she’d been sequestered from. Back to a life she didn’t know, didn’t fully understand.

She should feel…elated. Grateful. Relieved. Set free. She knew that. And yet—she didn’t quite feel that way. She felt…hollow. Uncertain. Without self. It hadn’t taken her long to realize with startling clarity that so much of her identity had been formed around her confinement, the guilt surrounding it, the restrictions it placed upon her person, both psychologically and physically—and now that it was gone, she wasn’t quite sure who, or what, was left. It wasn’t her only defining trait, but it _was_ a defining trait—the house of self still stood, but the foundation was definitely shaky.

She’d stitched herself to Ada’s side, during the first few days afterwards. Had been desperate to ground herself in some way, desperate to assure Ada that their coupling hadn’t been something done out of lack of choice on Hecate’s part, that Ada wasn’t some consolation prize picked from a limited list of candidates, desperate to assure herself that Ada hadn't simply accepted her affections out of pity. And, she could admit, there was a selfishness involved as well. Ada knew her, better than anyone. Ada could give her answers as to who she was now, who she truly had always been—answers Hecate wasn’t sure she had herself.

They were moving into Hecate’s third week of freedom, and for the first time, Hecate felt like she was actually doing something about it. It felt good. Like the first deep gulp of air after swimming to the bottom of Cackle Pond and bursting back up to the surface. Like the first time she brewed a complicated potion without mishap or mistake. Like the first time she kissed Ada and realized that Ada was actually kissing her back, actually _wanting_ her back. Like a belt had been unfastened from around her lungs, after years of being so accustomed to its presence that she’d forgotten about it, forgotten how it felt to breathe without the pressure and the tension.

The feeling was back in full-force as she guided her broom further into the sky.

Ada kept a cautious eye on her wife as they rose above the station at Inverness, looking for any signs of worry or distress. She’d had multiple reasons for waiting this long to use open-air broom travel. Yes, taking the train had been quicker and less physically taxing, but it had also been less vulnerable—Hecate had been able to take in the new world from the safety of the train car, with Ada keeping an arm around her or a hand in her lap to gently shield and ground her, if need be. Now they were completely untethered, floating around the world with no safety net, no shelter—it was so much easier to be overwhelmed by it all. She hoped Hecate would be better adjusted by the time they took to the brooms, and so far, it seemed to be true.

Hecate leveled out and slowed down, turning back to look at Ada with slight concern.

“Are you alright?” Hecate quirked a brow. Ada knew her soft tone carried across the divide thanks to a spell—she could feel Hecate’s magic lightly bumping against her, familiar and at-ease.

Ada smiled—her worry over Hecate was making Hecate worry over her. Typical. “I’m wonderful, dearest.”

Hecate grinned at the pronouncement. She waited until Ada’s broom was even with hers before setting off again. They moved along at a steady pace—fast enough to make good time but slow enough to take in the beautiful scenery below.

A movement caught Ada's eye, and she glanced over to see Hecate flying without holding on, arms outstretched to welcome the wind pushing past.

Hecate noticed Ada’s attention and gave a slightly sheepish smile, “It just…feels nice.”

More than anything, Ada loved that even though Hecate had a flash of chagrin, she didn’t stop—she trusted her wife enough to be vulnerable and unreserved around her, something that did not happen when she was in the armor of Miss Hardbroom.

Ada mimicked her, making sure she was balanced properly before releasing her broom handle. With a little giggle, she admitted, “It does, doesn’t it?”

Now Hecate was grinning, beaming in that warm and open way that Ada generally only saw in the confines of their bedroom.

Ada wanted to tell her wife how beautiful she looked, right now, with her prim posture and her wild wisping hair, with her sharp smile and her soft eyes. How beautiful she always looked, when she was being brave. But her throat was too tight, too choked with love. So instead she merely beamed right back, feeling some measure of satisfaction in knowing that Hecate knew, even without the words. Though there would be words, later on. After so many near-misses and mishaps, Ada had learned that regret was too deep a wound to bear—so even if she didn’t always express her thoughts and feelings the moment they were created, she always found a way to express them later.

For now, she simply enjoyed the feeling of watching her wife be free.

* * *

They stopped, twice, to stretch their legs. Each time, they chose a secluded spot, far from any signs of human existence. Hecate had already collected a bit of flora for the potions lab—it became a bit comical, her attempts to explain why she needed something while still adhering to the “no-work talk” rule. And Ada might have teased her just a bit, pretending not to understand just to see how Hecate would try to navigate verbally (possibly, perhaps, _absolutely_ , because it made Hecate smirk, despite her huffs and eyerolls).

Walking side by side, chatting quietly as birds sang and plants blew gently in the breeze—it felt a bit like being home, like the walks they took around the castle, like something just familiar enough to be comforting.

 _Yes_ , Hecate told herself. _This is who we are—this is who I am, with Ada. We are still the same, still exactly the same in all the ways that count._

It was why she’d kissed Ada, as soon as the train left the station the morning before. Why she’d kept her body glued to Ada’s for most of the ride. Why, as soon as they'd closed the door to their sleeping compartment, she’d parted Ada’s thighs and lifted her skirt, kissing her way up the soft, warm skin. To reassure herself that they were exactly the same, that everything was exactly the same, despite the strangeness of the world around her. They still knit together like two bodies meant to be, still loved exactly the same, still were the same two hearts beating in sync.

And it was exactly why she pinned Ada against a tree now and kissed her with delicious slowness, savoring every sigh, every sensation as her fingers lazily twirled a lock of Ada’s hair, relishing the familiar softness. Because… _research_.

It was basic chemistry, really. Take the entire substance, set it to boil, extract the essence. _That_ was what she was trying to find, amid the confusion of this new life—the _essence_ , the quintessential, most distilled form of herself, of her relationship with Ada, the part that existed entirely apart from her past and all its confined choices.

Though chemistry had never really been an issue, when it had come to Ada Cackle. Hecate smiled at the thought, pushing her tongue further into that moaning mouth. From the moment Ada Cackle had entered the staff lounge on her first day back at Cackle’s, Hecate Hardbroom had felt a lightning bolt straight to the gut, her stomach heating and tightening in the way that always signaled _absolutely dangerous_. She’d avoided the blonde like the plague for months. Despite all her attempts to remain aloof and self-controlled, she found that when it came to Ada, she was destined to fail.

Failure had its perks, sometimes. Ada’s hands were on her hips, pulling her further in.

Hecate let her mouth trail down Ada’s neck, and the blonde whispered, “We really should get going. We need to get there before nightfall.”

“I’m supposed to be the one who worries about schedules, remember?” Hecate nipped lightly at the flushed skin just above Ada’s collarbone.

Ada was smirking as she took Hecate’s face in her hands and kissed her soundly. She pulled away, a final declaration on the matter. “Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

“I could thank you now,” Hecate pointed out. She didn’t try to kiss Ada again, but she still kept her body firmly against the blonde, pinning her to the tree. She couldn’t help but smirk at the mental war going on behind those blue eyes—Ada wanted to say yes, wanted to stay wrapped up in this little moment in this quiet little glen, and there was something absolutely thrilling in knowing how much Ada wanted her, how her own desires were returned with such equal force.

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” Ada promised.

Now Hecate’s smirk broke into something softer. “You always do.”

* * *

Ada wasn’t entirely sure, but she felt that their speed was slightly higher for the final leg of the journey. While her promise was certainly still playing on Hecate’s mind, she also knew that the anticipation of finally reaching their destination spurred the younger witch on.

When searching through her _Illustrated Atlas of the World_ , Hecate had found photos of the Outer Hebrides rather compelling. The colorful seaside towns, the deep blue of the ocean—it seemed lovely and exotic and quirky enough to please Ada (and while Ada had insisted that Hecate choose wherever she wanted, Hecate simply couldn’t help but think how adorable Ada would look in such a locale, with her colorful summer dresses and sunny smile, and she'd realized that she wanted that, quite a lot).

They’d found a guesthouse to rent just outside of Stornoway, which was on Lewis, the northernmost island. It had been sheer luck to find a place still available on such short notice. Inwardly, Hecate took it as a sign of good fortune.

The shift in the air was palpable. The heaviness, the scent that pricked her nostrils and stirred something unknown in her chest. Hecate leaned forward slightly, pushing her broom to a faster speed.

Suddenly, it was as if the earth opened up. Deep blue yawned across the horizon, melding into lighter shades and white sand, chiaroscuroed by jagged rocks and trees. Hecate flew faster, closer—soon her view was nothing more than the sea and the beach. She pulled to a stop, hovering over the view, her eyes roving in every direction as she tried to process the overwhelming size of the visual.

Ada gently pulled up beside her. Her hushed tone held the same sense of awe that Hecate felt, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Hecate merely nodded, eyes still wide as she took it all in. The ponds and rivers surrounding the academy were all lovely in their own ways, but nothing compared to this. The expansiveness, the sheer wholeness of self possessed by this body of water, the feeling of her entire body being completely changed by the shifts in the world around her. No photo, no deeply descriptive paragraph, no stories could have prepared her for this.

Ada waited patiently, letting her wife simply experience the moment. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as she felt the sea breeze ruffle past. It had been ages since she’d been seaside; she’d forgotten how calm it always felt. Even at this height, the waves crashed and rolled back into the surf like a lullaby, steady and reassuring.

She felt a slight shift and opened her eyes again. Hecate had turned to smile at her, her face shining in delight.

“This was what I wanted to make sure we saw, while there was still daylight,” Ada confessed.

Hecate merely grinned in response, arching her eyebrow playfully, “Can I interest you in wager, Miss Cackle?”

“Depends.” Ada lied through her teeth. As if she wouldn’t play any game Hecate Hardbroom set before her. As if she wasn’t far too competitive to walk away from a challenge.

“Last one in owes the winner a favor.” Hecate didn’t have to stipulate what kind of favor. This wasn’t their first wager, not by a long shot.

With a slight pop ( _merely for show, dramatic woman_ ), Hecate Hardbroom transferred away.

Ada followed her wife with a smile. She wouldn’t ruin the fun—besides, some lessons should be learned firsthand.

She magicked away her shoes and stockings before transferring to the beach as well. She didn’t immediately transfer to the water—the small shriek of shock from her wife confirmed her suspicions that it was rather cold—but instead stayed on the land, smiling at the woman currently calves-deep in the water.

Hecate turned back to tell Ada something, but the incoming wave made her lose her footing and she warbled as her arms windmilled in a feeble attempt to regain balance. Ada was at her side in the blink of a transfer, hands firmly at Hecate's elbows to keep her upright. She gave a sharp gasp at the freezing temperature of the water, the sound tumbling into a quick jolt of laughter.

“I tried to warn you—it's absolutely glacial!” Hecate’s voice was little more than a breathless whisper, shivering with delight and shock.

Ada made a small noise of agreement, momentarily distracted by another incoming wave.

Hecate felt Ada’s stabilization spell settle into her hips, all the way down to her frozen feet. The tide dragged back out, but she remained steady and stalwart against the push and pull of the surf, even as the sand shifted and melted away beneath her feet, dragged out by the retreating wave.

Ada turned her face to the sea, and Hecate drank in the sight, as if seeing Ada for the first time. They had always been complements rather than opposites—Ada excelled at manipulating time while Hecate held pristine control of space, and Hecate’s magic tended towards elements of fire and earth while Ada pulled strength from water and air.

She’d known this for years now. Had seen it exemplified when they'd taken trips down to the pond at the edge of the grounds. But nothing had made Ada’s magic sing quite like this. Her eyes were both bluer and greener, a mystery Hecate couldn’t even begin to explain, and even after only a few minutes, her blonde locks had become looser and freer in the salt and humidity. Her lips even seemed fuller, more alluring (and Hecate had already found them _quite_ alluring before). In a flash, Hecate imagined a different life for Ada—a quiet life by the sea, free and truly her most powerful—and her heart ached with want, ached for the kind of joy she imagined such a life would bring Ada, ached for a freedom neither of them had ever really known.

“You could be a goddess here.” Hecate Hardbroom wasn’t one for maudlin sentimentality or superfluous praise. She meant it, as plainly and honestly as possible.

Ada looked up at her, blinking in surprise. The corner of her lovely pink mouth hitched into the briefest of smiles, as if she might dismiss Hecate’s words with a teasing quip.

And perhaps that had been Ada’s first instinct. But when she looked into her lover's eyes and saw the earnestness shining there, she found that she couldn’t remember what she had been thinking at all.

It had been years since Hecate had looked at her like that—granted, her wife still looked upon her with various forms of love, lust, adoration, and affection (dependent on the situation, naturally). But it had been quite a while since she'd caught herself on the receiving end of such soft wonder, such surprised quiet joy—as if Hecate still wasn’t quite convinced that this was real, this was happening. As if Hecate wasn’t fully certain that she hadn’t merely dreamed Ada up. It was the look Hecate wore the first time they kissed, the first time Ada undressed for her, the first time they made love, the first morning Ada opened her eyes to find Hecate still in her bed.

She’d forgotten how powerful that look was. How it felt to be seen, truly seen, and loved, truly loved for what was seen. Perhaps _forgotten_ was the wrong word. She’d just become so accustomed to being loved by Hecate that it wasn’t something she considered. It was like breathing, looking over to catch that soft, sweet smile—expected, unthinking, ingrained, simply part of her life now. The secondary rush of love from that realization was just as overwhelming. She reached up, gently trying to push back a strand of hair wisping around Hecate’s face and failing miserably—the breeze was far too insistent to keep anything in place—letting her fingertips trace the outline of the face she knew so well. Hecate closed her eyes and Ada’s heart nearly broke with love.

Ada knew where her powers lay, too—and she felt the rise in herself from being so close to the sea. Felt the stretch of it, the endless expansion of her lungs, the surge of her powers rising like the crest of a wave, the sense of invincibility settling into her bones with a kind of certainty that only the Universe could give. Anything was possible, in that moment. The thought made her giddy—and made her realize that, even with the power to do anything, there was one thing she wanted above all.

She reached up and pulled her wife into a kiss. She felt the surprise blossoming inside Hecate’s frame, melting into something happier and heavier as Hecate’s hands slipped around Ada’s hips, pulling them closer as another wave pushed past.

 _This is who we are_ , Hecate told herself, letting her mouth slide into place with Ada’s. The tide pulled and whirled around them, but they stayed as steady as ever. _This is who we are. Steady. Strong, unmovable, in the best of ways._

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

* * *

They stayed at the beach for a long time, though they quickly moved back to the sand—the coldness of the water had begun to feel like needles on their skin, and Hecate was, as always, worried about Ada catching a cold, despite the blonde’s attempts to assure her otherwise. They took a walk and found a nice place to sit, Ada barely hiding her smile at the way Hecate’s ever-expressive hands kept twittering through the sand as they talked, lightly tracing patterns or scooping up sand to sift through her fingertips. She loved those hands, loved that even when Hecate wore her most impassive expression, it was always her hands that gave away her true emotional state, loved how they fluttered when she talked and repeated small little motions when she was deep in thought, loved how they telegraphed so much of Hecate’s affection through touches and traces over skin. Eventually, Ada had to give in to temptation—she simply took one of Hecate’s hands in her own, turning the palm up to trace the heartline, fingertip swirling over the blue veins on Hecate’s wrist.

She’d read Hecate’s palm years ago, nothing had changed since. Still, when Hecate quietly asked her to read it again, she did. Hecate listened with rapt attention, as if hearing it all for the first time. Her cheek found its way to Ada’s shoulder, her eyes still trained on their hands, dancing and shifting around each other. Ada tilted her head slightly, too, letting it rest against Hecate’s as she quietly continued her reading.

Eventually, Hecate simply closed her eyes, letting her breathing sync with the tide as she floated along on the sound of Ada’s voice and the gentle warmth of her touch. She was both weightless and fully weighted to the woman beside her, an odd juxtaposition that was immensely comforting. Like the moment when you are aware that you’re floating into sleep but not quite asleep yet, suspended between two worlds in a soft cocoon.

Ada finished her reading but let her fingers continue tracing the lines of Hecate’s hand. After a long pause, she gently brought the hand closer to her mouth, bestowing a tiny kiss on Hecate’s wrist. Hecate shifted, nuzzling further into Ada’s shoulder for a moment before letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

“Let’s get to the cabin,” Hecate suggested. Her tone became wry as she added, “I believe you owe me a favor—plus, if I remember correctly, there was a promise made at our last stop. What was it again? Something about being worth the wait?”

Ada hummed in amusement at her wife’s feigned uncertainty. When it came to those sorts of conversations, Hecate had a memory like a steel trap.

“Looks like I have my work cut out for me, with all those promises and favors to fulfill,” Ada commented dryly.

“I have every faith in you,” Hecate assured her, grinning as she leaned further in, capturing Ada’s mouth in a languid kiss.

It may have been said jokingly, but Ada still felt the truth of her wife’s faith, even in a simple kiss.

* * *

It was dusk by the time they arrived at the little cottage, sharing the kind of looks that could set the world on fire. Ada was never fully certain how Hecate did it—her smile was always soft, quiet, timid, and yet her eyes burned and her shoulders were taut as bowstrings, ready the snap the instant they were alone.

And as soon as the front door closed, Ada felt Hecate’s silencing spell settle over the house.

“Hecate?”

“Hmm?” Her wife was the picture of curious innocence, as if she hadn’t been the one to set the spell still simmering to every corner of the cottage.

“We don’t need that here,” Ada pointed out gently.

“Oh,” Hecate gave an absentmindedly flutter of her hand, recalling her own spell. Then the full implications of Ada’s words hit her. This time, her voice held a heavier note, “Oh.”

Ada merely grinned, leaning against the wall to pull her wife further into her. With a sly grin, she echoed, “ _Oh_.”

The way Hecate kissed her implied that some kind of challenge had been accepted. She didn't bother with any kind of lights. The moon shone so brightly through the windows that they easily found their way.

But once they reached the bedroom, Hecate became soft again. Her face was lined with worry—a look all too familiar to Ada, particularly over the past few months. She was kneeling in front of Ada’s knees as Ada sat on the edge of the bed, hands already beneath Ada’s skirt, thumbs rubbing absentminded circles on Ada’s thighs, relishing the softness that would feel like velvet beneath her tongue.

Hecate felt her lungs involuntarily hitch as she pushed out the words, “Tell me. Before, in the beginning—what did you think of me?”

 _Before, before we were as we are now. In the beginning, the very beginning of our time together._ Ada knew that’s what Hecate meant. It wasn’t the first time they’d asked each other similar questions. After so many years of mutual pining, sometimes it helped to remember, to refresh the feeling of gratitude between them. But this didn’t feel the same—there was an odd energy in Hecate’s words, some unnamed anxiety.

Still, Ada tried to smile, to offer reassurance. She thought for a moment, truly considering her answer. Then, she said, “I suppose…I thought you were a bit mysterious. Standoffish, but not in a particularly rude way. Just…apart. You were so…whole. Self-sufficient. It was admirable.”

“And now?” Hecate’s question was barely audible, her brows lifting in a mixture of apprehension and hope.

This time, Ada’s smile came without effort. “Now I'm very glad that I was always the type of girl who enjoyed a good mystery.”

The tension in Hecate’s face eased, just a bit. Ada gently traced the outline of her cheek as she added, “It’s been a page turner, our life together.”

Hecate gave a small hum of droll amusement. However, her eyes flitted to the corner of the room, questions still crinkling the edges of her expression.

Ada’s stomach began to gnaw and tighten at the unreadable expression on her wife’s face. That look was becoming more familiar, over the past two weeks—sometimes she caught it, when Hecate thought she wasn’t looking. Fleeting and elusive but still worrying.

Hecate looked back at her, easily reading the confusion in Ada’s face. She tried to clarify. “We’re still us.”

It was a statement, yet still a question.

“Of course,” Ada replied softly, still not entirely sure of the question she was truly being asked. She reached up to tenderly trace Hecate’s hairline with her fingertip, sweeping around to outline the shell of her ear.

Hecate blinked so hard that it was almost a nod. Even in the darkness, Ada could see the emotion glistening in her wife’s eyes. Whatever her fear was, it wasn’t fully abated.

“Please tell me,” Ada prompted, her voice barely a whisper.

Hecate pressed her lips into a thin line, teeth worrying the edges as she tried to marshal her emotions into some form of logical expression.

“I know who I was. Who we were. And now…I don’t feel as certain about myself,” Hecate admitted. She forced herself to keep looking at Ada, to keep opening herself to Ada, to stay true to those vows she’d made so many years ago, to share all things with her wife. “I’m trying to figure out which parts are myself, and which are…my circumstances.”

 _Circumstances_. She meant her confinement, Ada knew.

There was a flicker of concern in Ada’s expression, and Hecate pushed herself further up on her knees, pulling her hands from under Ada’s skirt to rest on her hips, giving them a squeeze of reassurance. “I love you, I have loved you, I would always love you—no matter how our lives could have been altered, there isn’t a single variation in which I wouldn’t have fallen hopelessly in love with you. I need you to know that. I need you to know—”

Hecate’s words stopped as she gave a small, sharp little gasp, overwhelmed by her emotions. Ada’s heart ached as she tenderly cupped her wife’s face in her hands again.

“I know,” she said simply. She let her thumbs stroke those worried cheeks, quietly adding, “I’ve always known that, love.”

Hecate gave a small little nod, blinking back tears of relief.

Still, Ada had to ask, “Is that what’s been worrying you? That I might question your reason for loving me?”

Hecate’s eyes watered again. “I’m just…I’m not sure I know who I am— _what_ I am—anymore. And if I don’t know who I am, how can I possibly know who we are? And how can I ask you to…to wait, while I figure it out?”

“Wait how?” Ada asked gently. She’d give Hecate anything she needed to heal, but goddess, the thought of somehow distancing herself from the woman was physically painful.

“I don’t know,” Hecate admitted. “I just feel a bit…lost.”

Ada bit her lip, not sure if she should voice her next question. But she did, “Could I…possibly help you find your way?”

Hecate looked up at her again, expression soft with surprise. Ada wanted to laugh—her sweet, darling, fiercely independent wife had honestly never considered that she could simply ask for help. Probably because she was far too noble to consider burdening Ada, not realizing that her wife never saw it as a burden to begin with.

“Yes,” Hecate answered softly. After a beat, she added, “That’s why I’ve been—I’m trying to find myself, in who we are, together. I’m trying to find whoever you first saw, before you knew. I want to be that woman you believed I was, in the beginning.”

Ada felt the tears coming, her throat tightening as she tried to speak, “Hecate, you are that woman. You always have been. And I—we’ve grown since then. We’re not the same people that we were, twenty years ago. I would never want you to go back—I want you to move _forward_ , into whatever comes next.”

Hecate nodded again. Still, she felt the need to clarify, “I want to move forward. I just…I also need to find the parts of my past selves that are…true. The parts I want to keep.”

Ada hummed in understanding. She lightly took Hecate’s hands and pulled her to her feet. “I think I can help with that. May I?”

Her wife made a small sound of acquiescence. Ada guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, turning Hecate to face the wall. She knew it was always easier for Hecate to express herself when she didn’t feel completely scrutinized. With a wave of her hand, Ada opened the bedroom windows. The soft churning of the sea filtered in on the breeze, heavy with salt and the decaying plants near the water’s edge. Ada slipped closer, shifting so that her front was lightly touching Hecate’s back.

“At the risk of sounding completely lecherous, I do need you to remove your dress,” Ada intoned solemnly. She felt Hecate’s smile in response.

In a flash, all of Hecate’s clothing was gone.

“Better?”

“More than I was expecting, but I do love surprises,” Ada replied. She followed suit, smiling at Hecate’s small, happy sigh at feeling their two bodies touch without any barriers between them. She leaned forward, placing a small kiss on the curve of Hecate’s neck, feeling a familiar prickle of desire at the way Hecate shivered in response. “Let me take your hair down.”

Hecate nodded, tilting her head slightly so that Ada could have better access to the pins. Ada slowly took apart the bun, letting her fingers play in the dark tresses that still caught the sheen of moonlight. Then, gently, she let her finger trace the spot on Hecate’s left shoulder blade—the white scar, twisted and angry, like lightning caught inside a glass orb.

She’d heard the origin story before—Hecate had been climbing a tree as a child, and had fallen. Unfortunately, there was a fence to break her fall and her arm had been badly mangled in the process. Her parents, both powerful enough to heal her completely, had chosen to only heal the worst of her injuries, letting the scar remain for two reasons: because vanity was unbecoming in a witch, and because sometimes a girl needed a reminder of her own folly and foolishness, to prevent her from repeating such mistakes. Not for the first time, Ada’s heart burned with anger at anyone who could treat a child so cruelly.

Still, she said, “Tell me the story of the scar.”

Hecate cleared her throat gingerly, closing her eyes as she remembered. “I was seven…maybe eight. It was before I went to Cackle’s. And I found an egg, at the base of an apple tree. I knew it was probably already too late—I don’t know how the egg wasn’t smashed in the fall—but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stand the thought of something withering away, just because no one took the chance to help. I thought, _I should at least try_. So I did. But the nest was at the very top and the limbs were too thin to hold me—I fell, the poor egg smashed, and my parents made sure I never forgot it.”

“But you tried,” Ada reminded her. She bent her head, bestowing a light kiss on the mark. “You tried, even when it seemed pointless to do so. You refused to give in to apathy and hopelessness. You fell, but you fell trying to do good.”

Hecate hummed in agreement. Not for the first time, she felt a swell of appreciation for her wife’s ability to always see the good in every situation.

“You’re still that girl,” Ada informed her. “You still try, sometimes even when you shouldn’t. You risk yourself to protect others, all the time. You’re fearless in the best of ways, even when it seems hopeless or pointless or easier to simply let the world take its course. You are _noble_ , Hecate. It’s probably the first thing I loved about you. You’re simply incapable of inaction.”

Her wife made another soft little sound, something tinged with both gratitude and tears. Ada continued her efforts—with a light turn of her wrist, she called forth a phonograph into the room next to them, the sound softer, slightly muted as the strains from Hecate’s favorite non-magical composer drifted into the room.

“Now.” Ada wrapped her arms around Hecate again. “Tell me about music.”

“Oh,” Hecate let out an airy sigh, leaning further back into her wife. “It’s divine.”

Ada’s hands were wandering, slipping up to relish the feel of her wife’s breasts, massaging them lightly as she took in the soft warmth of the skin against her palms.

“Even the nonmagical kind is…ineffable,” Hecate admitted, closing her eyes so that she could fully appreciate the notes. Ada’s ministrations were slow and deep, like the chords turning around them. This particular song was a favorite, written by a woman who was suspected of being a witch by both magical and non-magical worlds alike. “It has the power to evoke emotion and memories beyond the scope of its creation or its creator. Even without words, it can inspire physical reactions beyond understanding or description.”

Ada let her hands slip further down, nails lightly dragging over Hecate’s ribcage and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Hecate smiled as she realized that Ada was intentionally following her narration. Ada continued to let her fingertips whorl over Hecate’s ribs, down to her hips.

“That’s part of who you are, too,” Ada nuzzled closer, softly inhaling the scent of her wife’s hair. “Your love of music has never changed, either.”

Hecate reached back, letting her hands blindly find Ada’s face, fingers slipping further back to tangle in Ada’s hair as she arched, encouraging her wife’s motions.

“I didn’t fully answer your question, before,” Ada admitted quietly. “When you asked what I saw in you, before I knew about your confinement.”

Hecate stilled slightly, but she never let Ada out of her grasp.

“I saw a woman who believed in principle. Who stood by it, even when it wasn’t the easiest or even wisest thing to do,” Ada gently pulled Hecate’s hair aside to place another kiss on her shoulder. “A woman who wanted the best for her students and for her school.”

“Ada Cackle, you’re moving dangerously close to work talk,” Hecate warned teasingly.

The blonde merely hummed in amusement as she shifted even closer, letting her chin rest on Hecate’s shoulder. “The point is, my dear, you have never been defined by your circumstances. Learning about your confinement never changed how I saw you, or how I loved you. If anything, it made me admire your determination and your strength even more. You have always remained, at your core, the same person. In all the ways that count.”

There was a beat of silence, stretching into a pause that filled with the sound of music and the lull of the sea. Hecate’s fingers still rippled through Ada’s hair, matching the easy motion of Ada’s fingers, still tracing nonsensical patterns on Hecate’s sides.

“Thank you,” Hecate said quietly. After another beat, she added, “I believe you owe me a favor, Miss Cackle.”

Ada’s chuckle was warm and knowing in her ear, slipping down to settle in her belly with weighted reassurance. Hecate leaned back, opening her thighs and giving Ada’s hand better access as it shifted further down. She tensed slightly at the first contact of Ada’s fingers, easily melting back into the touch as her wife found a lazy rhythm, one that easily matched the symphony of music and tides.

Hecate closed her eyes. She felt the need to add, “I do—I do remember these things, most of the time. But right now….”

She didn’t finish her thought. Ada still understood. Quietly, the blonde said, “It’s alright to feel a bit off-balance, love. I think I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. But I’m here, and you’re here, and we’ll figure it out together. As always.”

“As always,” Hecate echoed with a happy little sigh.

Maybe it was the power of the ocean that made Ada seem more certain, more incapable of being wrong. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was simply bravado, her eternal optimism on full display, defiant to the end. Whatever it was, Hecate relaxed and opened herself wider to that certainty, that love, that hope.


End file.
